December elicits wide ranges of emotion from me: Fury, melancholy, joy, greed, thanksgiving and heart-rending, soul-wrenching, unspeakable sorrow. An ineffable expression springing from gratitude deep within me. A groaning too deep for words.
America's World War II veterans are slipping the surly bonds of Earth more quickly than ever. Too soon, no one will remain to recount where they were Sunday, Dec. 7, 1941, when accounts of Japan's treacherous attack at Pearl Harbor hit radio airwaves. The number of Pearl Harbor survivors at the annual commemorative service aboard the USS Arizona Memorial on Tuesday will attest to that sad fact.
Yesterday's gridiron tilt between the Georgia Tech Yellow Jackets and the Georgia Bulldogs provided, I hope, another chapter in a great book of stories. Deadlines being what they are, this column was submitted well in advance of the game; I can only hope the Dawgs whipped the Humble Bumbles. The late Lewis Grizzard was the quintessential Georgia Bulldog fan. Among his many colorful contributions to Southern literature, he coined the phrase "clean old-fashioned hate" describing ...
Thanksgiving is that time of year when we consider our manifold blessings, not the least of which is that the bald eagle won out as America's national bird. Ben Franklin proposed the turkey to symbolize the nation, and if the turkey was now protected, who knows what we'd be baking and slathering with giblet gravy on Thursday.
Georgia's recent gubernatorial race was a no-win situation. I pretty much felt that I was choosing between the lesser of two evils.
One of the most unforgettable people I ever encountered was my eighth grade American history teacher. In 1964, Greensboro was so tiny that all grades were housed on the same campus, so he was familiar to everyone. But not until I was 13, and in his class, did I get to know a Tennessean with some Indian blood in him, Mr. G. M. Charles. Now, the whole town knew Mr. Charles as assistant principal and ...
A friend recently shared with me a musing of T. S. Eliot in which he wrote, "...and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time."
Our little corner of the world this year experienced one of the wettest springs in recent memory. If it didn't rain every day, it rained every other day.
It's no secret to my wife and close friends that I let things upset me from time to time. Quite often it's the case that I get upset the most over things which I have little or no control of, whatsoever. And when emotionally upset, I tend to rant like a spoiled child who can't have his way. It's very amusing to those witnessing the tirade.
The events of the past 11 weeks have left me feeling like the description of Waffle House hash browns: scattered, smothered, diced and covered. Since the morning of July 26, when my mother fell and broke her back in two places, our experiences have included Dr. Dalton Hanowell's fantastic Kyphon balloon kyphoplasty surgery at Newton Medical fixing my mom's back, her three weeks of rehabilitation at the Morgan Memorial Transitional Care Unit, and 10 days ...
When I was young, my parents tried to guard me against traumatic exposure to death.
For nearly 12 years, this publication has afforded me the opportunity to write on anything and everything piquing my interest. The world has truly been my oyster, and for that I'm grateful. But one topic has consistently eluded my best efforts, as it's so controversial that one has to tiptoe delicately to avoid misinterpretation. That topic is racial diversity.
We've reached a point in America where the general public feels its elected officials are out of touch with reality and that, especially at the Federal level, the incumbents should be thrown out of office so that we may start over. Various polls by national news services have dutifully reported President Obama's precipitous slip in popularity. The outcry from the common man reached a crescendo when Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi, voiced ...
Nine years ago Saturday, radical Islamists attacked The United States of America.
Y'know, it's not like I'm a foreigner. But although I've called Covington home now for 33 years, sometimes I still feel like I'm trespassing. I guess it's because I'm a product of a bygone era, something called the mid-20th century. When you grew up in a little town in Georgia back then, you were part of the town and the town was part of you. So when I get to thinking, or just ...